


Who Needs Inhibitions

by Tyrion_Lannister



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Light BDSM, PWP, Public Sex, This is just shameless porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyrion_Lannister/pseuds/Tyrion_Lannister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feuilly is trying to study. Bahorel won't let him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Needs Inhibitions

**Author's Note:**

> GUESS WHO'S GOT TWO ESSAYS TO WRITE AND THREE EXAMS TO REVISE FOR. Well, fuck it, here's some porn I wrote instead.

Feuilly shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fingers inactive on the keyboard as he stared at the blank screen in front of him. Sighing, he bent down to retrieve a couple of heavy books from his battered black rucksack and tried to ignore the low buzz of chatter that permeated the room, emanating from the sizeable crowd of harried students who had, like him, left the best part of their university dissertations to the last minute.

Depositing the books on the table in front of him and leaning forwards, he swiftly typed out a sentence; then, frowning, deleted it just as quickly, jabbing at the delete bar with a moody finger in order to erase his discordant words. With a frustrated huff of breath he leaned backwards and squeezed his eyes shut, his head wearily dropping back to rest against the top of the chair, wincing almost imperceptibly as his movement caused the harsh material of his jeans to rub against the raised, stinging marks on his backside. He bit his lip to stifle an exasperated grunt, the sharp pain prompting a rush of – presently, inconvenient, _for fuck’s sake_ – memories to flood his brain.

_Bahorel looming over him, an evil smirk marring his deceptively innocent face, moving to straddle Feuilly’s soft thighs as the auburn-haired man moaned profanities into a pillow, wrists sore and bruised from the leather bindings that pulled his arms taut over his head and fastened them tightly to the headboard._

_His body jerking helplessly as Bahorel’s large, rough hand came down hard on the pale flesh of his exposed ass, over and over and over again, intermittently tearing ragged supplications and harsh grunts from his aching throat. The loud slaps resounding throughout the room while Feuilly writhed helplessly against his restraints, thrusting against the pillow positioned underneath his narrow hips._

_Tears, finally, cascading from his eyes as Bahorel’s strong fingers tightened cruelly in his unruly curls to forcefully manipulate Feuilly’s mouth over his cock, thrusting roughly in and out until he came down his throat with a growl, hands retaining their fierce control over Feuilly’s head until he was completely spent and Feuilly had swallowed every last drop._

Feuilly’s breathing quickened involuntarily as the images from the previous night assailed him, his blood steadily heading south as his cock began to harden, pressing against the rough material of his tattered jeans. He forced himself to open his eyes and straighten up, glaring fiercely at no one in mute resentment. _Fucking Bahorel, the fucking… fuck._ A slight blush rose on his freckled cheeks as he examined the room covertly, feeling as though his inner thoughts must have been evident to everybody there, but no one seemed to be paying him any attention, too intent on their own problems to be concerned with his. He inhaled deeply, mentally telling himself off before pulling one of his books towards him; flipping it open at random, his eyes scanned the page as he tried to force himself to concentrate.

He had barely managed to focus on the material in front of him when he heard someone drop gracelessly into the seat next to him and lean in closer. Feuilly made a low, exasperated noise in his throat and resisted the urge to smack his head against the cool surface of the desk, knowing who he’d see when he turned his head. Sure enough, when he raised his eyes, Bahorel was draped casually over the chair, a nonchalant expression adorning his roughly-hewn features. He met Feuilly’s eye coolly and smiled slightly to see the vexation on his face, pouting slightly in a ridiculous attempt at mock-sadness. “Aww, you’re not happy to see me?”

Feuilly narrowed his eyes, shooting daggers at the larger man. “Piss off. Some of us actually want to get a degree.”

Bahorel smirked in wry amusement, his brown eyes twinkling as he glanced at the uselessly blinking cursor that adorned Feuilly’s blank page. “That seems to be going well.” His tone was light, belying the gently-mocking sarcasm in his words.

 “Fuck. Off.” It was almost a snarl, forcing its way through clenched teeth. _How does he just know where I am 99% of the time, Jesus fucking Christ._

“Now, now.” Bahorel raised a sardonic eyebrow, his lips still quirked up into a grin as he leaned back in his chair, dropping his legs heavily onto the desk in front of him. “You’re tense. What’s the problem?”

Feuilly shrugged, his shoulders stiff with barely repressed exasperation. “Just stress. And you. Because you’re not leaving.” _Ok, perhaps it wasn’t repressed_.

Bahorel shook his head sorrowfully, more than familiar with Feuilly’s vitriolic moods. Mostly because Feuilly was moody about as often as Grantaire was drunk, Jehan poetic, Enjolras ranting, or Marius awkward. _Every three seconds, Bossuet drops something, and Feuilly swears at an inanimate object_. But good-naturedness came easily to Bahorel, so he put up with all of his friends’ quirks without so much as a snarky comment. And if Feuilly’s moods got a little excessive… _well_.

Feuilly was still trying to stare him down, his pointed features contorted in a pissed-off grimace. _It was cute_. Bahorel smiled fondly and casually shuffled his chair across until it was positioned directly behind Feuilly’s, causing the smaller man to half-turn suspiciously in order to face him.

Bahorel chuckled, a low rumble that seemed to emanate from deep within his chest. (Feuilly pretended that the curl of heat that spread across the pit of his stomach in response was irritation, _not_ arousal.) “Seriously, relax, you need a massage.”

“Bahorel, _no – ohhh_ –” Feuilly couldn’t quite contain the quiet groan of pleasure as Bahorel’s huge hands came down firmly on his shoulders and pressed in deep, fingertips rubbing firmly against stiff muscles. He could almost _feel_ Bahorel smirk at his involuntary noise and gritted his teeth, determined not to give him the satisfaction. Still, his head dropped back, connecting with Bahorel’s solid shoulder, as his lover massaged the stress out of his back.

“See, I’m not all bad.”

Feuilly snorted lazily, his eyes fluttering shut, eyelashes glinting gold in the soft afternoon light that permeated the room. “I’m not convinced.”

Bahorel tutted teasingly. “Tell me to leave, then.” His voice was low and amused, almost a whisper, and Feuilly repressed a shiver at the feel of Bahorel’s breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of his neck. He grunted in response, words melting away as Bahorel’s hands drifted down over his front to press against his chest.

His eyes jolted open a moment later, ginger eyebrows shooting into the stratosphere, as Bahorel’s thumbs brushed slowly, purposefully over his nipples. “Bahorel, _stop it_.” He hissed the words out, not wanting any of the surrounding students to hear.

“Stop what?” Bahorel’s voice was entirely innocent as he pinched Feuilly’s left nipple, his grip tightening evilly until the smaller man was squirming in his seat and biting furiously on his lower lip in an attempt to stay quiet. “For _fuck’s_ sake Bahorel, _you know what_ , don’t be a _dick_ –”

“Alright.” Bahorel’s hands released him, gliding back up his body to rest lightly against his shoulder blades. Feuilly’s mouth opened slightly in surprise that Bahorel had acquiesced so easily – _he wasn’t disappointed, honestly_ – and he brought his own hand up to soothe his sore nipple. “What the fuck even was that?”

“Don’t be grumpy. I know what kind of stress relief you like.” Bahorel raised an eyebrow, his gaze laden with crude, unspoken innuendo.

Feuilly scowled insolently. “So, what, you were just gonna get me off _in the middle of the library_?”

Bahorel shrugged uncaringly. “Yep.”

Feuilly nearly choked in surprise, an incredulous look on his face as he span his chair around to face the other man. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and Bahorel let his eyes roam over his lips, the imprints of teeth still visible from Feuilly’s continual worrying. _“Are – you – kidding?!”_

“Why would I be?”

Feuilly remained silent for a minute, staring at Bahorel disbelievingly. Taking a quick scan of the room, he turned back to the large man, shaking his head slightly. “There are like, twenty people in here. _At least._ And you want to make me come without any of them noticing.” The last sentence was said in a furtive, furious whisper.

Bahorel shrugged again, his broad shoulders straining against the flimsy material of his cotton V-neck, and Feuilly had to force his eyes away. “There’s no reason any of them would notice. If you were quiet.” He raised a hand to lightly stroke across the nape of Feuilly’s neck, before wrapping one of Feuilly’s soft curls around his index finger and tugging sharply. Feuilly bit back a frustrated moan. “And you’re always quiet when I tell you to be.” The last comment was hushed, soft, as Bahorel leaned forwards and spoke directly into Feuilly’s ear, rough tongue flicking out to sweep gently over the lobe.

“I fucking hate you, goddamnit Bahorel…” Feuilly’s voice trailed off weakly as Bahorel pressed a soft kiss against the side of his neck, before swiftly opening his mouth and clamping his teeth down _hard_ , prompting Feuilly to clench his hands into tight fists and exhale slowly in an attempt to remain silent. Bahorel released him, licking over the angry red mark now marring the previously blemish-free skin. “So, is that a yes or a no?”

Feuilly blushed, cursing his fair skin as his face bloomed red, knowing that Bahorel wouldn’t continue unless he expressly asked him to. “For fuck’s sake.”

“That’s not an answer, babe.” Bahorel looked amused, a wicked smirk lighting up his devilish features.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” Feuilly’s reply was almost a growl, his hands now kneading furiously at his thighs as he valiantly tried to distract himself from the way his hard cock was pressing insistently against his pants. It didn’t help that he could barely move without being reminded of the previous night’s activities, but he downright _refused_ to give in this easily.

Sadly, it seemed that Bahorel could now add ‘mind-reader’ to his resume, right underneath ‘evil dickhead’ and ‘fucking tease’. He smiled at Feuilly lasciviously and raised a knowing eyebrow, leaning closer until his brown eyes were boring into the other man’s blue ones, lips only inches apart when he spoke. “Did you like what I did to you last night?”

Feuilly shut his eyes in response, suppressing the embarrassing noise that threatened to force its way out of his throat, only to open them again with a sharp gasp when Bahorel administered a sharp pinch to his inner thigh. “Don’t look away from me.”

Feuilly felt himself nod almost involuntarily as his eyes found Bahorel’s once again.

Bahorel hummed slightly in the back of his throat. “That’s better. Now, _did you like what I did to you last night_ , and I want an answer this time or you’ll pay for it later.”

Feuilly somehow found the willpower to smirk right back, ignoring the threat. “Oh yeah? What will you do to me?” His voice was low, an octave deeper than normal, but other than that, he sounded unruffled. Only the noticeable bulge in his jeans and slight trembling of his fine-boned hands betrayed the true extent of his arousal.

Bahorel narrowed his eyes slightly, contemplative. “I will hold you down, fuck you with a vibrator until you lose the ability to talk, then fuck you with my cock until you cry. And I won’t let you come.” He moved closer to Feuilly, hand inching up his thigh and stopping dangerously close to his crotch before continuing. “You won’t come, and I’ll forbid you to touch yourself, and I’ll repeat the process for days and days until _you learn to stop mouthing off_.”

Feuilly licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry as he stared intently into the depths of Bahorel’s eyes. _The man was deadly serious_.

“How do you think that would feel, having to lie next to me at night while I’m naked and sleeping, knowing you can’t make yourself come without me finding out and punishing you? Maybe I’ll spank you, put you over my knee until you’re red-raw and your cock is throbbing, then get myself off while you watch. If you’re lucky, I’ll even let _you_ get me off, but you don’t get to come until I say so, and if you don’t answer my question _pronto_ , that won’t be for a _very_ _long time_.”

The image of Bahorel, naked and hard, one hand wrapped around his cock as he slowly brought himself to orgasm, suddenly filled Feuilly’s head, and he choked back a moan. Bahorel, noticing, ran a hand down his own muscular chest languorously, his fingers seeking out the sizeable bulge in his jeans only to rub his hand over it indulgently. Then he _squeezed_ , mouth dropping open slightly at the sensations he was inflicting on himself, and Feuilly swore under his breath, casting his eyes about to check no one was looking. Bahorel continued to grope himself, his breathing growing unsteady as Feuilly watched helplessly.

“ _I liked what you did to me last night_ , fuck, Bahorel, I want it so bad, please –” The hushed words spilled out of Feuilly in a rush, almost involuntarily, before he caught himself and fiercely clamped his mouth shut. It was enough for Bahorel, though; the larger man pulled away, a satisfied smile curling his lips as his hand stilled over his groin, the unreservedly pleased look in his eyes causing Feuilly’s cock to twitch unexpectedly. _I should not find making him happy this much of a turn-on, what the fuck_.

“If you could have seen yourself last night, your legs spread while I pumped the dildo in and out… I thought you were going to have the police called on us with your screaming.” Bahorel broke off, looking amused at Feuilly’s blush, reaching up with the hand that had previously been resting against his own cock to cup the smaller man’s jaw. “You’re so goddamn beautiful when you’re being fucked, you have no idea.”

Feuilly’s cock was painfully hard, and he almost whined when Bahorel touched his face, wanting anything, just needing _more_. All of a sudden, a rush of self-consciousness descended over him, and his face turned an even more brilliant shade of red as he tried to stop himself from looking around frantically, almost expecting to see people staring at them, _at him_ , disgusted or laughing or _something_. Bahorel’s grip tightened on his face. “Feuilly, relax, no one’s watching. We’re just talking in a corner, as far as everyone in here knows, they haven’t so much as glanced in our direction since I came in.”

Feuilly breathed out shakily, Bahorel’s simple words somehow managing to calm him down. He nodded, and Bahorel’s hand relaxed against his neck, before smoothly stroking down his slender torso. Feuilly bucked up into the touch only to be pressed back down again with one strong push that, if possible, caused his cock to grow even harder. Bahorel _tsked_ under his breath, taking his hand away entirely – and Feuilly did _not_ whimper at the loss – to spin the chair back around until Feuilly was facing towards the desk, his back to everyone else in the room. Then, suddenly, Bahorel’s hand had snaked around his waist and was somehow around his cock over the harsh material of his jeans, pressing down almost painfully, and it was _wonderful_ , and Feuilly nearly embarrassed himself by coming right there and then. He gasped, his body jolting with the unexpected sensation and his hands shooting up to grip the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Bahorel moved closer, dropping his head on Feuilly’s shoulder and turning his face into the smaller man’s neck, breathing hot air over his pulse point in the way he knew would send him wild. Feuilly’s hips writhed furiously on the chair as he tried his best to restrain himself from bucking up into Bahorel’s grip, murmuring a quiet litany of _fuckfuckfuckfuck_ under his breath that Bahorel could only just hear.

They remained like this for several minutes, Bahorel silently pressing against Feuilly’s pulsating erection while the other man bit down hard on his lip until it started to drip blood down his chin. Bahorel could tell from the sheer force of Feuilly’s shaking that he was close to orgasm, but also knew that the teasing strokes over thick denim would not be sufficient to get him there. He glanced around discreetly, noting with some amusement that _still_ nobody had noticed just what was going on in the corner, and swiftly undid the button on Feuilly’s jeans before slipping his hand under the waistband and wrapping his hand around the smooth, hot length of Feuilly’s cock through his thin cotton boxers. Feuilly gasped sharply, his heart pounding in his chest as Bahorel finally touched him properly; his strong grip tightened around his erection and jerked roughly once, twice, and that was it, it was official, _Feuilly was coming in his boxers for the first time since secondary school_. His cock twitched, spilling hot fluid over Bahorel's hand as he orgasmed so hard he nearly passed out, his ragged breaths almost inaudible to him over the thundering of blood in his head.

As he came back down, he became gradually more aware of Bahorel’s strong arms wrapped against his middle, holding him up. He laughed breathlessly. “For fuck’s sake Bahorel, why is it so impossible for you to just leave me alone to work?”

Bahorel grinned wolfishly against his neck. “And where’s the fun in that, pretty boy?” Feuilly made a half-hearted attempt to elbow him in the ribs. “Of course, I could leave you alone now, if you like?”

Feuilly snorted dryly, cocking a lazy eyebrow. “Don’t be a twat, we’re going home. When I can stand up. I’m gonna get you back for that, you know.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Find me on tumblr at orestesgayandpyladesalsogay.tumblr.com :-)


End file.
